


This is good

by queenofchildren



Series: The Discovery of Kindness [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Let's build a society
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Building a society isn't all struggling for survival. Sometimes, it's about enjoying the little comforts in life – a warm bed, a tasty meal, a nice gesture. This is about the comforts Clarke and Bellamy get to share from time to time. </p><p>Featuring: artist!Clarke, fussy!Bellamy, grounder magic herbs, domestic fluff and sexual tension.</p><p>(Picks up things mentioned in the other parts of the series, but can be read alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in the same storyline as the rest of the series, but can be read alone, I think. The little scenes are just things I mentioned in passing and wanted to expand. They're not in chronological order, so you can figure out yourself when they happen in the overall story arc.

As their resident doctor, Clarke is used to being called out of bed at night due to some medical emergency, and so it doesn't take her long to appear at the door after Bellamy has knocked. For once, however, he doesn't wake her with news of some catastrophe.

“Monty sends me. He's figured out a way to keep the beds warm at night.” That sounds like he's offering something else entirely. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

She looks slightly baffled, but doesn't protest when he pushes past her inside the hut, carefully holding the tongs with the hot stone away from her. He shoves the stone under the fur and blanket on her pallet, explaining as he does:

“Monty and Jasper rigged a grate up over the fires to heat the stones. Everyone who's cold at night can get one to pre-warm the bed. I figured you'd like one. You should just make sure not to touch it directly for a while, maybe put something over it so you don't burn your feet.”

Now with his mission successfully completed, he turns around to see her watching him, expression unusually soft. He's about to wonder what that is about when he takes in the rest of her appearance. Apparently, she was already in bed – her hair is undone from its usual braid, looking soft and tousled, and there's a slight imprint on her cheek from the balled-up sweater she uses as a pillow. More importantly, he notices as his eyes slip lower, she has _taken off her clothes_. Her jeans and sweater at least, leaving her in nothing but her ratty shirt and black underwear. The chunky black boots she's slipped into somehow only serve to accentuate her pale, shapely legs, and he suddenly has to swallow hard.

“Where are your clothes?” He notes with embarrassment that his voice sounds a little squeaky.

She seems confused by the question, pointing at the jeans and jacket sitting on a wooden crate next to her bed.

“I can see that. Why are you not wearing them?” He may be imagining it, but it looks like she's blushing the tiniest bit. Her voice is unfazed as always, however.

“Wearing too many layers to bed actually keeps you from getting properly warm. It's better to let the warm air under the blankets hit your skin directly.”

“Ah.” He doesn't know what else to add to that, and he can't keep from sneaking glances at her legs again, at the bit of black panty peaking out under the edge of her shirt, at the clear proof that it's pretty cold in here and she's taken off her bra for the night...

“So is it safe to get into bed, or do you take the stone out again first?”

He swallows and forces his eyes back to her face. “No, you can get in. Just be a little careful not to touch the stone for a while.”

She approaches the bed, bending over to push off the boots, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep a strangled groan from escaping. Of course she has an ass to go with her perfect legs and her perfect breasts. And of course she chooses this moment to look back at him, eyebrows raised.

“Was there anything else you wanted?” _You, naked,_ his mind not-so-helpfully supplies, but he manages to keep the thought to himself.

“Monty says to get feedback. You're the first to test it out.”

“I really shouldn't...”

“We've been over this, Clarke. You have all the responsibility, you get to have some perks. Besides, testing this thing means you're also the one risking burned feet, so it's all for the greater good.”

“Oh. Okay then.”

With that, she slips under the fur and hesitantly stretches out her feet, careful not to touch the hot stone with her bare skin. For a moment, nothing happens. Then her face brightens, her eyes lightening up.

“Oh, it's already getting warm.” Then, settling further under the furs, her feet seem to have found the pocket of heat at the foot of the bed, because she closes her eyes in bliss and _moans._  “Damn, this is _good_.” She burrows deeper, a blissful sigh escaping her.

He doesn't manage anything resembling a coherent reply this time, struck dumb by the spectacle of her, near-naked in bed, moaning in pleasure. It sends his blood pumping and his imagination into overdrive, and by the time his mind catches up with what's happening, his body is all but ready to climb into bed with her and find out how much heat _that_ would create. He manages to keep it together long enough to murmur something about getting that feedback to Monty and fling himself outside, where he leans against the wall of her hut and lets the night air cool his flushed cheeks.

_Fuck._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Clarke accidentally gets high, Bellamy is not a morning person, and aphrodisiacs are hilarious provided you're not the one acting under their influence.


	2. Stimulating

Bellamy Blake is not a morning person on the best of days. On days when his little sister and his co-leader are taking too much time to return from a meeting with an unknown grounder tribe and worried thoughts are racing in circles through his head, he practically turns into a grumpy monster. By mid-morning, the village is virtually empty, as everyone who can has found some excuse to flee from his rampage. Bellamy doesn't care. He wants Clarke and Octavia back, now.

Just as he's in the middle of trying not to vividly imagine the two most important people in his life getting tortured to death, shouts ring out from the gate. Bellamy has sprinted across the village square before the gate is fully open, arriving just in time to see Octavia and Lincoln walk in, half-dragging a stumbling Clarke between them. He quickly scans her for visible injuries and doesn't find any, but that's not too reassuring – something is definitely off.

“What happened? Is she hurt?”

Octavia actually rolls her eyes at him, the little brat, but then rushes to reassure him.

“She's fine, Bell, don't be so melodramatic. She's just a little... out of it at the moment.”

And that does sum up the situation quite nicely, Bellamy has to admit. Clarke is swaying on her feet with a faraway expression on her face, smiling dreamily and looking around the village as if she'd never seen it before.

"This is so nice! I can't believe we live here.”

Because she is starting to creep him out and he feels like he has to do something, Bellamy cradles her face to check her pupils. They're blown wide, something he remembers Clarke telling him is a bad sign, but he can't remember why right now and he's starting to panic again.

“Octavia, if you don't tell me what's going on with her right now...”

Octavia sighs. “She's high, alright? The grounder tribe we met with has a different protocol for diplomatic receptions, and it involves some very potent herbal drink called a 'coktel' and a sweat lodge. Oh, and paint,” she adds as an afterthought. “Clarke loved it.”

“You let her drink some grounder concoction that completely incapacitated her?”

“Well, we couldn't really say no to the grounders at our first diplomatic meeting, could we? Besides, Lincoln and I didn't drink anything. And she wasn't like this right away, she was pretty alert at first. This kind of behaviour only came up when we were halfway back to camp.”

“Is there an antidote?”

Beside Octavia, Lincoln shakes his head. “There's no need for an antidote. The effect will wear off within the next 24 hours. She'll just have to drink lots of water and lie down for a while. The most dangerous part about this particular tradition is the first sip – if the person drinking it survives, it means the healer did it right and the coktel is not poisonous.”

“So you're saying there's a chance she could have died?” Bellamy can hear the hysterical edge of his voice, and he doesn't even care. “Your job is to make sure she returns from these meetings alive! Not to watch the grounders poison her!”

“She is alive. And we did tell her about the risk of drinking it, but she insisted. She said she had to do it for the good of the village. She made us promise to keep the peace with the grounders even if she died.”

Bellamy looks at his co-leader with exasperated affection. Of course she wouldn't be talked out of drinking poison if she thought it would keep her people safe.

With a sigh, he steps forward and drapes Clarke's arm over his shoulder, taking over from Lincoln.

“Well then, I guess she'll just have to sleep it off.”

Octavia falls into step as he half-carries Clarke across the village square.

“Did the negotiations at least go well?”

“They absolutely loved Clarke. They agreed on the peace treaty and want to meet again to talk trading.”

“Well, that's something I guess.”

They've reached Clarke's hut and managed to sit her down on the bed, and Octavia leaves to get some water. After a bemused look at her surroundings, Clarke looks up at him with a wide smile.

“We had such a beautiful trip, Bellamy. You should have been there. The grounder leader was amazing. She's a painter, too – look, she painted me.”

Bellamy expects to be shown some kind of portrait of his co-leader. What he does not expect is for her to whip off her shirt and proudly point out the mass of colourful swirls adorning her torso, over which she has thankfully put on her bra. (He can tell she put it on over the paint because it's relatively paint-free and there are swirls of colour peaking out at the edges, but he forces himself not to dwell on just how much of her is covered in the purple, blue and yellow paint.)

“ _On_ you.” He can only stupidly correct. “She painted _on_ you.”

“Yes, and I painted on her too. It's how they greet newcomers, apparently. We should introduce that, it's fun.” While she explains, Clarke starts tracing the lines on her body with her fingers, dreamily looking down at the chaotic art project on her arms and chest. “It's a rather sensual experience, actually.”

She suddenly jumps to her feet, the movement causing her to sway so dangerously that he jumps forward to catch her. Laughing, she throws her arms around his neck and draws herself closer.

“Nice reflexes. You really are my knight in shining armour, aren't you?”

And now he's blushing, honest-to-goodness blushing because of the ramblings of a coked-out princess. (Who is all soft skin and fragrant hair and he needs to get some distance between them, now.) He gently starts guiding her back towards the bed.

“Maybe you should get some sleep.”

Clarke actually pouts at him, giving an exaggerated little sniffle for added effect. “You're mean. Someone this pretty shouldn't be so mean.”

He can't help but grin at that. Awkward as it may be, this whole mess is kind of hilarious. Especially when he starts to imagine telling her about it after she's sobered up; in excruciating detail.

“Sorry, Princess. It's for your own good.”

She sighs, a puff of air against his collarbone, and he can practically feel his heart swelling with fondness for her. Then she presses herself closer and suddenly other things are swelling too, but he tries really hard to ignore that, ignore the softness of her breasts against his chest, the curve of her bare back under his hands. _She's drugged, Bellamy, for fuck's sake,_  he admonishes himself.

“Alright, but only if you stay.” She nuzzles into his neck, causing his heart to skip a beat, and for just a second, he allows himself to hold her, because this is not a thing he gets to do normally and lately he's found himself wishing it was.

“You smell good.”

The laughter rising up in him gets stuck in his throat when she follows the words by placing soft, hot kisses along the side of his neck, and his knees buckle. Thankfully, they've made it close enough to the bed for him to dump her on it rather unceremoniously, glad to be safe from her wandering hands. There's a time and a place, at least he hopes there will be one day, and this is not it.

By the time Octavia enters the hut with a full waterskin, Bellamy has managed to get himself somewhat under control and is currently allowing Clarke to braid his hair because it's the only way to keep her from trying to slip her hands under his shirt. Octavia all but cackles at the sight.

“I should have warned you, the drugs are making her a little handsy.”

“A warning might have been good, yeah. Maybe you should take over from here. Apparently, I can't tell her to go to sleep because I'm too pretty to be mean.”

Octavia chuckles. "Didn't you know? We're all _beautiful_.”

“She said that to you too?”

“What, you thought you were special?" Octavia winks at him. "She loves everyone right now, she actually intends to, and I quote, 'make love to the whole world'. Apparently, something in the coktel is an aphrodisiac, and it's not picky. She kept trying to talk me into taking a detour to go skinny-dipping.”

That, Bellamy notices with a queasy feeling in his stomach, was not information he really needed.

“We _should_ go skinny-dipping.” Great, now Clarke decides to take part in the conversation again.

Thankfully, Octavia sits down on the bed and gently disentangles Clarke's hands from Bellamy's hair, maneuvering her back down on the bed as Bellamy makes his escape.

“We will, honey, but it's still a little cold. We'll go later in the afternoon, I promise.”

“Oh, that's alright then.” Smiling blissfully, Clarke snuggles into the furs on her bed, pulling Octavia down to lay beside her. Octavia shoots him a glance that is part-resignation, part-amusement and settles in next to her friend.

“I love you, Octavia. I really do.”

For a second as he watches Octavia smile and gently stroke Clarke's hair, Bellamy is irrationally, idiotically jealous of his little sister.

“I love you too, Clarke. Now get some sleep.”

Clarke sighs and closes her eyes, and within seconds, she's snoring softly.

Bellamy backs quietly out of the hut, shaking his head in disbelief. _Never a dull moment with this one._

 

***

 

There is one good thing that comes out of Clarke's experiences with grounder drinks: It introduces them to the Coca plant, one ingredient of the sensory enhancing 'coktel', that grows in a few spots near the village. Without the added devil's snare, the Coca leaves make for a perfectly harmless, very invigorating tea, and Lincoln reassures them the aphrodisiac effect of the leaves only occurs when they're used in a much higher concentration. Deciding to trust the grounder, Bellamy takes a sip, marvelling at how quickly the stimulating effect of the drink sets in. After that, he has a cup of the stuff every morning because it makes him much less grumpy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of this story, Coca leaves are growing in Northeastern America. Maybe there was a botanical garden somewhere. Oh, and the grounder word 'coktel' is of course a mutation of 'cocktail'.


	3. Sunny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the first two chapters were a bit heavy on the sexual tension, here's some fluff.

On the first sunny morning in spring, Clarke is gone. When Bellamy seeks her out at her practice after breakfast, she is nowhere to be found. Only after he's frantically asked everyone he meets does someone point him towards the little patch of grass behind Monty and Jasper's hut that they've dubbed 'the park' - something Jasper has apparently read about and wanted the village to have.

Bellamy makes his way over there to find Clarke lying on her back in the grass, eyes closed, arms folded behind her head. His heart stops at the sight, a thousand things that could be wrong with her running through his head.

“What's wrong? Are you hurt?”

Clarke doesn't open her eyes but laughs.

“I'm fine, just enjoying the sunshine. It's the first warm day, and for once, no one needs me in medical.”

“So you're just... lying around?” That is unusual. In fact, for Clarke it may be unheard of.

She nods, still keeping her eyes closed. “It's called sunbathing.”

Bellamy doesn't know what to reply. The sight of Clarke doing nothing is so strange, it takes him a moment to wrap his head around.

“You should try it.”

Because he doesn't have anything else to do right now, Bellamy sits down next to her. It doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to notice that the ground is still pretty cold and slightly damp, however, so he gets up again to sit on a nearby tree stump. After a moment, he shrugs out of his jacket and holds it out to her.

“Ground's still wet. You should put something down to sit on.”

Clarke opens one eye to peer at him, catches sight of the jacket and laughs out loud.

“Seriously, Bell? You are such a mother hen.”

“And you were the one who lectured everyone on the dangers of cystitis.”

She rolls her eyes but takes the jacket and pushes it under herself. Bellamy looks away from her to see Miller, who has stopped on his way to Monty's and is watching them with an incredulous expression. When Bellamy glares at him, he shakes his head and mouths 'Pathetic', before walking on.

Clarke, thankfully, has laid back and closed her eyes again, a smile on her relaxed face as she soaks up the sun. Bellamy allows himself to watch her for a moment, for once perfectly at ease and without a worried frown on her face. Then he leans back on his arms and turns his face up towards the sun.

So this is sunbathing. Bellamy thinks he might like it.

 


	4. Lifelike

 

Apart from hunting trips and the occasional diplomatic meeting with the people of Luna by the Sea, they don't get out of camp much. They're too busy trying to procure enough shelter and food supplies to get them through the winter, and thoroughly exploring their surroundings will have to wait until spring. But one party decides to set out for a longer trip anyway: Before winter can make travelling impossible, Lincoln and Octavia want to make one last attempt to reconcile with Lincoln's tribe. Bellamy of course was adamantly against the idea, and the two Blake siblings soon found themselves in a screaming match that had most of the camp taking shelter and only failed to end in bloodshed because Clarke and Lincoln intervened. 

Tensions have eased slightly since then, but Bellamy is still sulking, and so it is Clarke who goes over the details of the trip with Octavia and shows her a few last-minute first aid basics, just in case. Once they've gone over everything Clarke can think of, Octavia remains sitting on the bench by the fireplace, looking like there's something still on her mind, and Clarke can probably guess what it is. She doesn't bring it up, knowing Octavia is not a big fan of talking about her feelings, but Clarke hates to see her friends so at odds with each other, especially since what the siblings have is so rare and special. 

Clarke is still wondering what to say to convince Octavia not to worry, that her brother's only being an idiot because he worries about her, when the other girl turns towards the fire and Clarke is distracted for a moment by the flicker of firelight across her face. The mesmerizing play of light and shadow makes her fingers practically itch to start drawing, and before she knows what she's doing, Clarke has picked up the last blank piece of paper and the little stub of charcoal that is normally reserved for writing duty rosters and inventory lists.

“Do you have another moment?”

Octavia shrugs. “Sure. I switched guard shifts with Monroe so I can go to bed early today.”

“In that case, would you mind staying for a little longer and keeping really still?”

Octavia is about to ask why when Clarke holds up the pen and charcoal as an explanation.

“Really, Clarke? You don't have anything better to do right now than draw?”

“All my patients are discharged, the last hunt's food has been stored and inventoried, and your brother's in charge of overseeing the guard patrols. So unless you have anything else to prepare for tomorrow...” Her voice sounds harsher than she intended, and Octavia looks remorseful.

“Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I know you work a lot. It's just that you usually always have something important going on.”

“You know what? This is important." 

"Why?"

Octavia settles in more comfortably and Clarke studies her for a moment to get into the groove of painting after she hasn't done it for so long. 

"Because your brother's being an idiot, and I'm not suffering through his bad temper for weeks.” Octavia looks confused, and Clarke explains. "I want to give him the portrait. He'll miss you."

“Oh, so I don't even get to keep it?” Octavia's mock outrage is softened by a smile. “It's a sweet idea. I'm sure Bell will love it.” There's still a hint of bitterness in her tone that tells Clarke her suspicion about Octavia's melancholy mood was right. 

“He just worries.” Clarke starts outlining the perfect oval of her subject's face. 

Octavia sighs. “I know. But he can't protect me forever. I could just as easily die because I slipped and hit my head in the middle of camp. He can't make sure I'm one hundred per cent safe no matter where I am.”

Clarke hums in agreement and details Octavia's features with quick strokes, taking note of her friend's fine bone-structure with a hint of envy.

“He knows that. But he's still going to try and minimize the risks, because he loves you.”

Octavia smiles, and now it is this Clarke is envious of – Octavia's knowledge of being loved so unconditionally. Clarke guesses her mother at least must love her the same way, but her mother is far away, and the rift that opened up between them with her father's death has never quite closed again. Sometimes Clarke feels lonely even in the midst of the cramped camp. But that's how it has to be - she can't afford to let people love her. It will have to be enough to have their trust and respect.

Instead of following the painful thought, Clarke concentrates on her work, filling in details like Octavia's long lashes and the faint scar on her left cheek. For a few moments, there's silence except for the crackling of the fire and the soft scratching of charcoal on paper.

“He loves you too, you know.”

Octavia's words startle her so much that the charcoal slips in Clarke's hand, leaving a dark smudge on the paper. Thankfully, it's a spot above the eyebrows, so Clarke might be able to cover it up by drawing one of Octavia's intricate braids over it. She stares determinedly at the paper on her lap as she makes the necessary corrections, but Octavia keeps talking, and suddenly Clarke can't breathe.

“We all do. I hope you know that.”

Clarke doesn't think much about the reason her friends followed her here – she just figured she offered them something they wanted, and they took her up on her offer. It doesn't often occur to her that they might care about her as much as she cares about them, and the thought scares her. So far, her experiences with people loving her have been nothing less than tragic – two people have already died because of it, and she's panically convinced that more will follow if she lets them.

Clarke clenches the piece of charcoal so hard that little pieces crumble off and land on her lap, dark freckles on Octavia's paper cheeks. She tries to keep breathing regularly, but the charcoal face in front of her morphs into other faces – Wells' lifeless form on the soft forest floor, Finn breathing out for the last time tied to a pole. The thought that Bellamy could be next, or Octavia or Monty or Raven or Jasper, is literally suffocating her.

“Clarke? What's wrong?”

Clarke hears Octavia's voice as if she's sitting at the bottom of a lake, but the hands that are suddenly on her back are firm and warm and finally manage to pull her back. Clarke draws a few deep breaths before forcing her face into something that might count as a smile.

“Nothing, sorry if I freaked you out. I just felt a bit faint. Maybe I didn't eat enough today.”

Octavia starts rummaging around in the deep pockets of her long coat before pulling out a wrinkly little apple.

“There you go.”

Clarke forces herself to eat even though the thought alone makes her feel nauseous. But by the time she's polished off the apple, her hands have stopped shaking and she can finish her project quickly. They sit mostly in comfortable silence, no one mentions words like 'love' or 'worry', and by the time Octavia leaves, Clarke feels almost calm again.

 

***

 

Clarke stands next to Bellamy the next morning to say goodbye to Octavia and Lincoln, and stays as he watches them disappear in between the thick trees. Bellamy is still standing there, looking down the dirt track his sister disappeared on, when everyone else has returned to their daily tasks. It's as good a moment as any, Clarke figures and pulls out the small, rolled-up sheet of paper.

“I thought you might like this.”

He takes it with a surprised raise of his eyebrows and unrolls the scroll. For a moment as Bellamy looks at the black-and-white image, pain flickers across his face, his eyes returning once more to the quiet forest outside the camp before settling on her.

“It's so lifelike! When did you have time do that?”

“Last night. And no, I did not have anything better to do.”

He looks a little surprised by her defensive tone but doesn't comment. Instead, he takes her hand in his and squeezes it. “It's beautiful. Thank you.”

Bellamy is still holding on to her hand, his skin as warm as his smile, and Clarke steels herself against enjoying the sensation. Octavia is wrong, and if she isn't she should be. No one else is going to die because of her, least of all Bellamy.

“You're welcome.” Nodding curtly, Clarke withdraws her hand and turns to go.

“What's with the braid across her forehead? I don't think I've ever seen Octavia wear her hair like that.”

Clarke clenches her fists. She won't forget the words that caused her hand to slip anytime soon, but she sure as hell won't repeat them.

“We experimented around with a few hairstyles, and she liked this one.”

With that explained away, she returns to medical to do inventory of her herbal remedies, leaving Bellamy behind at the gate. For the rest of the morning, Clarke busies herself cutting up some of the herbs she dried and stored a few weeks ago and mixing fresh batches of remedies. But the memory of the warmth in Bellamy's eyes when he thanked her for the portrait and the thought that there might be people here who love her won't leave her alone. Because as much as Clarke is trying to stay strong, a weak, soft part of her likes the idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize there's not a lot of Bellarke interaction here, but I love exploring both Clarke and Octavia's friendship and the Blake siblings' dynamic.  
> Yes, Clarke is kidding herself if she thinks her friends don't love her and it's for the best that way. It's just the way she tries to cope. And this story is pretty early in the timeline, so she'll come around.  
> It also occurs to me that the first part of this chapter could have taken a very different turn for Clarke and Octavia, but that might just be because of all the femslash february fics I've seen floating around. Who knows, maybe someday I'll write that story.


	5. Refreshing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swimming lessons!

It's Octavia's idea, of course – the first of the 100 to jump fearlessly into that endlessly fascinating element, she suggests it to Clarke when summer comes around early and everyone is groaning under the heat. According to what they learned about Earth meteorology on the Ark, it should not be this warm at the end of May, but apparently, the sun didn't get that memo. Clarke is sweating like a pig and it doesn't take long for Octavia to convince her that maybe it couldn't hurt to start teaching their people to swim.

Leaving Bellamy in charge of the village, Clarke puts together a group of fifteen people, mostly hunters and gatherers who are most likely to fall into a stream or lake on their trips. They set out to a nearby lake in the morning and Clarke breathes in the fresh air, still cool but promising to heat up quickly as the sun progresses across the sky. To be honest, Clarke is happy she chose to go on this trip. Now that she's walking through the forest next to a blissfully quiet Miller, Clarke notices how long it's been since she last left the village. Since everyone has their assigned duties, others hunt her food and gather her supplies and she only goes out to scout for new herbs or meet grounders every once in a while. She has been feeling kind of cooped up lately.

When they get to the lake, Clarke has to put on her sternest expression to keep the excited teens from jumping into the water straight away. First, they have to copy the movements demonstrated by Lincoln on dry land. Clarke joins in, even though she feels a little ridiculous lying on her stomach on the rocky shore and parting the air with her hands. Soon enough, Lincoln declares they're ready for water, and in the blink of an eye the teens have stripped to their underwear and are wading into the lake amid much splashing and screeching. Clarke chooses to stay behind to oversee everything, watching with amusement as those children born in space explore the new element.

The cool morning blends into a balmy afternoon, and Clarke doesn't have much more to do than keep her eyes open for attackers and remind the swimmers to take a break at some point. Eventually, all fifteen teens emerge from the lake wet but happy, and after half an hour's rest in the warm sun, they're dry enough to head back. Clarke looks back across the lake with one last longing glance and turns towards the forest, but before she can start walking, Octavia is by her side.

“What about you? Do you want to give it a try?”

“I do, honestly, but we should really be heading back....”

“Psh, we can stay a little longer. I can teach you, I've been practising with Lincoln for a while.”

Clarke smiles. Of course she has. It has been impossible to keep Octavia away from the water and all sorts of adventures from day one.

“Besides, you were so eager to go skinny-dipping the last time we passed by here.”

Octavia grins gleefully at the remark and Clarke blushes. She doesn't remember much from that infamous diplomatic trip, but Octavia has told her about it in excruciating detail, and Bellamy still gets a weird look on his face everytime it's mentioned. Clarke pushes the thought aside.

“One of the guards will have to give us their gun, just in case.”

“What good is a gun when we're in the water? How about I just ask Lincoln to stay with us and keep an eye open?”

Clarke wrestles with her conscience for a few seconds, but the lure of the water, glittering in the afternoon sun, proves irresistible.

“Alright. But just half an hour.”

Two minutes later, Clarke is wading into the water in her underwear while Lincoln keeps watch on the shore and Miller has taken over leading the group back to the village. While Clarke is still sticking to the shallows, Octavia walks over to a part where the water is deeper, and jumps off the rocks head first in an elegant arch. Clarke wonders just how long she has been practicing with Lincoln, but then again, for a person who grew up in cramped quarters on the Ark, Octavia is astonishingly graceful, to the point where Clarke sometimes feels like an elephant next to the lightfooted girl. It's no surprise that swimming comes as easily to her as every other physical activity.

Clarke takes a bit longer to catch on, finding it vexingly difficult to transfer the theory of the strokes practiced on dry land to actually staying afloat in the water. Eventually, though, she manages to go from dogpaddling to the correct froglike movements, much to Octavia's delight, and is soon crossing back and forth along the edge of the lake, just past the point where she can still stand.

Swimming is fun, but also kind of exhausting, and after she's done enough laps to internalize the unfamiliar movements, Clarke discovers the much more pleasant pastime of floating on her back with her arms and legs outstretched. Between the cool water cradling her and the sun warming the front of her body, Clarke feels herself relaxing to a point where she thinks she might just fall asleep here even at the risk of sinking like a stone.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

The voice booming out across the lake is unmistakeable, but it startles Clarke so much that she forgets to hold the tension keeping her afloat and promptly goes under. When she reemerges sputtering and wipes the water from her eyes, sure enough there's Bellamy standing on the rocks by their clothes, looking absolutely livid.

“The others came back an hour ago! Including the gunners we sent to guard you!”

“Relax, Bellamy, Lincoln's keeping watch!” Even in her underwear, Octavia is completely unfazed by her brother's anger. Clarke, on the other hand, tries to surreptitiously lower herself far enough into the water that at least her bra isn't showing anymore – no easy feat, given that the water is only waist-deep where they're standing.

But as always with Bellamy, Clarke soon finds herself drawn into the fight as he shouts on about responsible behaviour and grounder danger and trying to get his sister killed, and before she knows what's happening, she's standing before him in her faded underwear, dripping water onto the rocks and poking his chest with her finger to make a point.

“... so stop making such a fuss and treating your sister like a child. We told Miller we were staying behind, Lincoln is standing watch, and Octavia is a good enough swimmer to make sure neither of us drowns. And frankly, I'm glad that I approved this outing. At least I won't sink like a stone if I ever fall into the water.”

“Well, it's nice to hear you're happy with your choices, but this is not about the swimming lessons. The lessons, in a group, with guards like we discussed, are not what I'm objecting to. I'm objecting to you and my sister traipsing about here like irresponsible children...”

And suddenly Clarke is so sick of this. She was having a perfectly lovely afternoon and for once, she doesn't want to be reminded of all the dangers around them. Before she has thought about what she's doing, Clarke shoves her co-leader with all her might.

She wouldn't be able to move his bulk an inch if he expected the attack, but he doesn't. He goes straight over the edge of the rocks, arms flailing, and lands with a splash in the water.

The graceless movement is so untypical for him – she sometimes wonders if those Blakes have feline DNA - that Clarke can't help the laughter bubbling up in her. But then she remembers he can't swim, and the water is so shallow he might hit his head on the ground and oh God what if she kills him?

Without hesitation, Clarke jumps in after him, hitting the surface ass first and creating a rather undignified splash. She doesn't care, already frantically pulling him up by his shirt and cradling his head against her chest to check if he's injured and make sure he doesn't breathe in any water.

He's not injured, she finds out. He is, however, at eye-level with her rather exposed chest and seems to be quite enjoying himself. She yanks him upright and lets go of his shirt, steeling herself for when he'll inevitably start yelling at her.

“Princess, if you let me stay like that for one more minute I'll forgive you for pushing me into a lake.”

She forces herself not to try and hide by ducking back under the water even as his eyes rake over her exposed torso, but she doesn't quite know how to deal with his cheeky reply, his smile or the tingle that shoots through her at the sight of him checking her out. This is not how their fighting usually resolves itself. Thankfully, Octavia saves her from having to reply.

“Bellamy, stop harassing Clarke. Now that you're already in the water, you might as well learn how to swim.”

He doesn't hesitate for a second before drawing his wet shirt over his head and Clarke can't help but watch, mesmerized, as the wet cloth clings to wet skin and slides up, slowly as if reluctant to break the contact. ( _And who can blame it._ ) The muscled plane of his abdomen ripples with the movement, and her eyes are drawn to the droplets of water sliding down across the ridges, her fingers itching to trace their progress over the smooth skin. When she looks up again, his head has emerged from his shirt and he looks at her with a knowing smirk.

Blushing and irritated, she snatches the sodden shirt from his hand and starts wading to the shore.

“I'll hang this out to dry. Put your jeans and shoes on the rocks once you've taken them off.”

“Are you sure you don't want to stay and watch, princess?”

She doesn't turn around, but she can practically hear the smug grin in his voice, and as she clambers inelegantly up the bank, she is very aware of his eyes on her. By the time she has hung the shirt on a tree branch, his jeans and boots are sitting on the warm rocks innocently, and he's dogpaddling into deeper water with Octavia.

Clarke watches for a little while as he splashes about in the water, joking around a bit before copying Octavia's movements in earnest. She can't help but follow the graceful arc of his arms as he memorizes the breast strokes, droplets of water on his skin glittering in the sun when his back muscles flex with the movement. The mature part of her sneers at her shameless ogling, but who cares about being mature when there's such a view to be had?

Unfortunately, he keeps looking back and catching her staring at him, and eventually, she lies down and closes her eyes entirely. She must have dozed off, because she is jerked awake by a spray of water droplets on her face. When she blinks her eyes open, it is to find Bellamy leaning over her, silhouetted against the sunlight, water dripping from his dark curls onto her face and neck.

“Some guard you are, sleepyhead!”

“Lincoln's on guard, isn't he?” He harumphs but doesn't say anything. Lincoln is in fact standing a few feet away, still scanning their surroundings intermittently. “So, did you learn how to swim yet or are you still dogpaddling?”

“I swim like a fish, of course.”

Clarke chuckles, but she can't help but wonder if she'll have to get up now and leave this heavenly, golden place to put on grubby clothes and head back into the shadowy forest.

Apparently not, because Bellamy lays down beside her, stretching out his legs. They lie on the warm, smooth rocks in silence, their arms touching ever-so-slightly, his cool, damp skin a nice contrast to her sun-heated body. All the tension of their earlier fight has dissipated, leaving behind nothing but the drowsy peace of a lazy summer afternoon.

“I can't believe you pushed me into a lake.”

She'd roll her eyes if they weren't closed, but she doesn't take his half-hearted jab seriously. His voice sounds as relaxed as her body feels, warm and languid and content.

“Shut up and enjoy the sunshine, Bellamy.”

 

***

 

When they return to camp just before sunset, Clarke is exhausted, and her face, shoulders and arms are painfully sunburned. She notes with envy that neither Lincoln nor either of the Blake siblings seem to have the same problem. With Monty's help, she prepares a paste of soothing herbs to apply to the burnt areas, and when Bellamy comes by later and sees her covered in green goo, he doubles over laughing.

Clarke can't help but join in, noticing as she looks at him that the day in the sun has caused the freckles dusted across Bellamy's nose to multiply. Sunburn and midges aside, summer on earth is glorious, Clarke decides. She can't wait to go swimming again.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am procrastinating like crazy, so I really hope you like this chapter because it comes at the expense of a lot of other things I should be doing.


	6. Reassuring

It's a beautiful spring day, mild and clear, and Bellamy is in a pretty good mood as he takes his customary morning walk around the camp that they can start calling a village by now, checking that everyone's accounted for and knows what they have to do. The air smells sweet, and judging by the thick yellow layer of pollen on pretty much every surface, he should count himself happy to be able to smell it at all. Many others can't: half the camp came down with what Clarke eventually figured out was hay fever, an allergic reaction to the pollen of several different plants that manifests itself in sneezing, irritated eyes and, in severe cases, shortness of breath. Clarke is hit with it, too, much to her chagrin, and has been grumpy ever since. Through the sniffling and sneezing, even her most serious orders are more pathetic than imposing and, Bellamy admits only to himself, kind of cute as well.

Speak of the devil, he thinks as he hears someone say her name nearby, and turns around to see Jasper talking to Monty.

“I told Clarke we'd go out to get supplies without her. She should stay in and rest, you know, because of her condition.”

Monty chuckles and they both shoulder their packs and walk out the gate, but Bellamy stands frozen in place, his ears ringing. Did he really just hear what he thinks he heard? Does that mean...?

He's tearing across camp towards her hut before he can come to the end of the thought. When he bursts through the door, Clarke is sitting at her table, carefully looking back and forth between a bunch of cut-up herbs and a leather-bound book that looks like Lincoln's. She's so immersed that she only looks up when he skids to a stop beside her.

“Who's the idiot who did this to you? I'll banish him! I'll cut off his...“

She is clearly surprised and a little startled by his sudden and explosive presence, but she cuts him off before he can erupt into a string of profanities. 

“What are you talking about? The idiot who did what to me?“

“Knocked you up!“ The answer comes out as a strangled shout, accompanied by his hand sweeping erratically through the air before her body.

There is silence except for his heavy breathing. And then she giggles.

He doesn't think he's ever heard the sound before – it's so very much _not_ Clarke – so it takes him a few moments to identify it, not that that helps him understand just what is so funny. He settles on 'hormones' for an explanation, but when the giggles don't die down after what feels like several minutes, his patience snaps.

“What's so funny about that?“

That at least makes her stop laughing, but it takes her a moment to catch her breath, and he takes that pause to make it clear just how little reason she has to laugh about things like this.

“Do you even realise how incredibly dangerous this is? With the kind of living conditions and medical resources we have down here, what do you think your chances are of surviving childbirth? Not to mention the child's chances to survive even the first few months?“

He realizes how upset he sounds, and by the slight widening of her red-rimmed eyes he can see she's registered it too. Her grin fades, and she stands up to be slightly more level with him, putting a hand on his arm the way she always does when she wants to calm him down.

“Bellamy, I'm not pregnant. What gave you that idea?“

“Someone mentioned your 'condition'.“

She looks confused for a moment, before she snorts. “Was that someone Jasper, by any chance?“

He nods.

“Then the 'condition' he was talking about was hayfever.“

Bellamy can only stare at her blankly.

“It's what Jasper calls the allergic reaction to the plant pollen some of us have developed. I'm not pregnant.“

“Are you sure?“

Suddenly her expression is far from amused.

“Am I sure I'm not pregnant? I am, unless you know something about my menstrual cycle that I don't?!“

And now he can feel himself blushing. Since she has confirmed that there's no danger, it catches up to him what exactly they are discussing, and the implications alone make his head spin. Nonetheless, he needs to be sure she is safe from at least this one thing.

“Could you be?” The moment the words are out, he realizes their ambiguity.

“You mean am I having sex?” His face is positively burning now.

“No! That's none of my.... I meant, do you have some kind of protection?”

“Honestly, Bellamy, I can't believe you didn't concern yourself with this all this time, what with all the girls...” She breaks off and flushes too, but continues quickly. “Every girl on the Ark gets a contraceptive implant when she turns 14. It works for six to seven years, so even if I _was_ sleeping with anyone, I'd be safe. And when the implants stop working at some point, there are grounder remedies.”

He breathes out a sigh of relief, both at the fact that she's safe and, irrationally, at the way she subtly let him know about the state of her love life, though he really shouldn't care about that at all.

“Good. One less problem, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

They stand there in awkward silence for a few moments, and he finds himself wishing they'd get interrupted. In a camp full of teenagers, it's normally incredibly hard to catch some alone time, but it seems that the one time he needs someone to barge in and end their conversation, everyone's busy. Typical.

“Well then. I'll just get on...” Clarke waves her hand towards the herbs on the table in a vague gesture and sits back down. For a few seconds, Bellamy allows himself to watch as she resumes her work, then he leaves her hut with a smile on his face.

One less thing to worry about, he thinks with satisfaction, that's the only reason he's so relieved right now. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Clarke just told him she's not sleeping with anyone. Nothing at all.

He hears her sneezing behind him, a sound like a startled little animal, and his smile widens. _Spring!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is incredibly silly and contrived and a little out of character, plus it doesn't really fit with the 'comforts'-theme, but... I just had to.


End file.
